


What Darkness Can't Conceal

by neptunedemon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, I repeat SEXUAL TENSION, Incredibly Persistent Thirst, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Teacher-Student Relationship, Yuuri's stamina also makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:24:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neptunedemon/pseuds/neptunedemon
Summary: It’s easy to not realize who you’re wooing in a nightclub when 1) the place has some rather horrible lighting and 2) the person happens to be the very hot professor you’re trying hard to forget exists.





	What Darkness Can't Conceal

****This is his professor, dammit.

Victor knows this. He knows he needs to stop staring at his ass when he turns around. Stop letting his eyes flit to where his crisp shirt tucks neatly into slacks. Stop imagining if he could undo that belt buckle with his teeth.

He HAS to stop. Because Dr Katsuki is looking at him, and it would be exciting, but Victor has the prickling sensation you get when you know you're about to be called on by a teacher.

"Victor," he says. Dr Katsuki sits on the edge of his desk and crosses his arms.

Oh god, if Victor could just hike down in front of him and grab his thighs, he would.

He NEEDS to stop.

Dr Katsuki looks like he's waiting on something, and Victor realizes he must have asked a question _before_ calling on Victor.

"Sorry," Victor says, "can you ask that again?"

Dr Katsuki stares evenly at him and doesn't respond. He looks thoughtful but maybe a little annoyed.

Victor's heart sinks. He should at least try not to be an ass in this class. But that _ASS..._

Another classmate raises their hand. Dr Katsuki calls their name, and the student proceeds to prattle on about the author's intention behind some symbolism in something, and Dr Katsuki jovially nods along and continues class.

Victor slumps in his seat. The other thing that's hard for him is that he's older than his professor. Only by a few years, but still. Everyone had encouraged him to go back to university with such honest, open enthusiasm, and not a damn person warned Victor this could happen.

That you could be sat in a class taught by a man you're completely eligible to bed and wed, except — well, not. Because of the whole student thing. He shudders. One month of class hasn't left him used to this yet.

He's leaving when Dr Katsuki calls his name again. This time Victor hadn't sensed it, and this time his heart goes into overdrive. Barely able to speak through it pounding in his throat, he lets Dr Katsuki talk without much more than a nod.

"Have you been well?"

Victor nods, coughing out a, "Ahem, yeah."

Dr Katsuki doesn't look convinced. "You were quite eager at the beginning of the year. I just want to make sure my teaching is working well for you."

Oh, this is a mess. Victor takes a deep breath and tries, "You're completely fine, I assure you." Somehow that sounds even more fake. "I'm fine, too?" Damn, it sounds like a question!

Dr Katsuki purses his lips and nods slowly, thinking. "Okay then. I'm glad. I know it's not easy being, you know, not the same age as your peers. But you're doing great, okay?"

Victor mumbles through his gratitude and embarrassment and hurries away.

His professor is going to have an extra sharp eye on him now, thinking Victor is troubled and tormented when all that's going on is some incredibly powerful thirst.

There is no helping him. He pulls out his phone, shoots Chris a text. Chris, who is on his final semester here, can surely help him bury his feelings at least for tonight.

 

 

•••

 

 

Chris takes him to a nightclub. He knows all the best ones in this city, ones that don't tend to fill with crazed students on Friday nights blacking out in the name of not being under their parents' roof anymore.

This one is nice. Two floors, glass windows deeply tinted from outside. Music pours out from speakers and spreads through both floors, between held drinks and gazes, curving around everything in an embrace of sheer bliss and forgetfulness. It's that kind of place.

Everything is dark, too. The only lights are colored ones illuminating corners and those behind the bar and around the DJ. Everyone's faces are shadows and the sea of swaying bodies is interrupted only by the glinting of jewelry on necks and twinkle of drink glasses.

"Why haven't we been to this one before?" Victor asks as Chris puts a drink in his hand.

"I was saving it for a special occasion. Wanna talk about it?"

Victor takes the first swallow of his drink and it hits good, so he takes another, shaking his head and the day's unpleasantness off with the shiver of alcohol spreading through him. "Not at all."

Chris would be quite willing to advise him, but he'd also encourage him in the _wrong_ way.

"Come grab me if you sense trouble then." Chris winks and disappears into the dark crowd.

Victor turns, thinking he will perhaps get another drink before this one is gone. There's a herd of bodies moving to an upbeat song in front of him. The bar is just beyond it.  

He goes, eyes straining to not knock into a stray leg or flung arm. It's loud and this is actually rather disorienting; maybe the intention is to make you want to drink more, rid yourself of the headache of the dark and strangers sooner. If so, it's working.

Bravely, Victor tosses back the rest of his drink mid-step, and his foot collides with something. That _something_ splutters an apology while Victor stumbles, catching himself but nearly grabbing blindly at a person. At least he'd finished his drink.

"I'm sorry!" the culprit says again. "Are you okay?"

Victor laughs because that was mostly _his_ clumsiness. He turns to say so, but his breath catches. The stranger is in shadow — they're all in shadow — but he's... wow. Victor regrets how dark the place is.

"It was my fault," he says breathlessly.

The stranger giggles and waves a hand between them. "No, this place is pitch black. It's awful, really. Aren't there fire codes against this?"

Victor grins. Wow, cute and friendly.

The man's hair is pushed back from his face, held in place by gel. He’s wearing nice shirt that catches the little light there is and reflects it back out into the club. Something silky, maybe. The top few buttons are undone. Victor wants a better look at all of him. "Make it up to me and let me buy you a drink?" He shoots his best grin.

It doesn't take much convincing. The man gasps in flirtatious honor. "But I think I should be the one getting you a drink, actually."

"Well, as long as—" Victor starts to oblige him further, but a waiter with a tray of drinks skirts past them.

Victor's new friend jumps in front of them and pulls his wallet out. "These," he says loudly over a sudden rise in the music's volume, "are really freaking good."

It's this moment that Victor realizes this man is already quite drunk.

He handles himself well though, bringing a drink back over to Victor. Then he steps back and gestures for Victor to follow him. They're moving toward a wall and it's no lighter there, but Victor catches the faint shape of his new companion and decides it's worth the wait. They lean their backs against the wall so that they can stare out at the dancing groups and sip their drinks — it's something bubbly and sharp. Strong, too. Victor's head swims a little. Maybe he should've eaten more before getting Chris to drag him here.

"I'm Victor, by the way."

The man nods enthusiastically and gestures with his drink. "Yuuri. I know another Victor, that's funny."

"Yeah?" The name Yuuri is familiar too, but he doesn't know from where. He doesn't think he knows another Yuuri. "And do you like them?"

Yuuri doesn't answer. Instead, he pushes off the wall, his body curving like a flow of water, and steps in front of Victor. The glass dangles between his fingers, twinkling once in the brief catch of a stray beam of light. It’s empty.

His hand lifts to Victor and he leaves it as an offer. "Let's dance, Victor." A flash of white teeth, the distinct curve of a smirk, and Victor's lost to the flickering shadows of the night club.

 

 

•••

 

 

He would've noticed sooner if he'd just insisted on taking Yuuri over to the bar with its hazy but bright fluorescents. But instead he lets himself be spun into Yuuri’s orbit, blindly feeling his way into a new gravity. Yuuri is fantastic, and Victor is eager to stumble into what he’s offering.

They dance, a hundred other bodies pushing around them making the experience dysphoric; he has no idea how anyone can keep track of their partner in this group, unless no one has a partner and this is meant to be some sort of dance orgy. Yet somehow Yuuri manages to keep a part of himself on Victor the entire time.

Sometimes it's a hand on him that slowly slides down his arm. Other times it's a leg or shoulder grazing against him. He's good. Almost well-practiced, like he comes here a lot.

Victor hadn't set out tonight to lose all his wits, but Yuuri flags down another waiter and gets him another super strong bubbly. He loses track of how many Yuuri drinks. The man is slender and has a small frame, which Victor imagines would let you get knocked down pretty fast after a few, but though Yuuri laughs loud and whispers some quite unrepeatable things in his ear, he doesn’t lose control. Plus he seems to only become a better dancer with each drink.

With the alcohol in his head and the dark club doing somersaults before his eyes, it’s no wonder Victor didn't connect the dots sooner.

When he is pushed into the wall again, he still isn't going to think hard about this. All that mattered was Yuuri's mouth coming down on his. Later, after it all comes crashing down, Victor will still think about how Yuuri being a little shorter gave him the perfect space to grind himself into Victor's leg. He’ll remember the moment he feels him hard and wanting on his thigh. The spike of Victor’s own eagerness sending his heart into a frenzy and an irresistible smile against Yuuri’s lips.

Victor cups his ass and tugs him firmer into him, and Yuuri rotates his hips against him in a way that should be illegal. It’s quickly becoming too much even for a place like this.

Yuuri's voice comes in as a whisper into his ear. "Let's get out of here."

Victor sends Chris a text on the way out.

 ** _Victor 11:23PM_ ** _Leaving with someone. ;) Thanks, Chris_

He stuffs his phone back into his pocket as he follows Yuuri through the exit.  

Yuuri turns to face him in the clear light of a crisp night with a healthy number of street lamps.

Yuuri definitely notices first; his jaw went slack, he blinks away the lusty gaze, and the cool night seems to hit his body sober. He visibly shivers.

Before registering anything else, Victor flashes back to the name Yuuri and where he'd heard it.

It'd been printed on his syllabus. Dr Yuuri Katsuki.

"Oh, my god." The words tumble out of Victor's mouth. A familiar, mortifying feeling begins to grow in his stomach. This time, instead of being like a hot iron weighed down by guilt, it's just a sick, roiling fester. Victor regrets the drinks. All of them.

"I — I didn't know," Yuuri stammers. "The dark..." His voice trails off. Victor understands, of course he does. That's why he's also standing here in horrified silence.

The gelled back hair, no glasses, the confidence, it wasn't fair. It all pressed in on him with the dark and been intoxicating and enough that he couldn't see a single hint this would be how their night ends.

What do they do now? They’re adults, god dammit. They could just… But that’s probably the alcohol talking, and Yuuri is clearly flustered into oblivion.

Yuuri mutters another frantic apology and tears off down the street, and when Victor calls for him, there’s no answer. He doesn’t even know if Yuuri can get home okay that drunk, and there’s worry along with humiliation rocking around in his head.

He pulls out his phone. There’s a reply from Chris waiting on him.

 ** _Chris 11:25PM_ ** _I saw you two leave. Delightful, Victor. Treat him well._

Victor frowns.

 ** _Victor 11:30PM_ ** _… Never mind._

 **_Chris 11:30PM_ ** _Yikes! I’ll come find you_

 

 

•••

 

 

On Monday Victor has a decision to make. He can go to class and look Dr Katsuki dead in the eyes and make no comment about how he'd stroked his cock through his clothes. Or he can just not go, and then never go to another class again. Probably drop out of university altogether.

In the end, he decides to go. This was on both of them, not just Victor. Yet as he takes each step toward the doom waiting inside the class, he considers that he has the worse end of this.

He's the student. He's the one who Yuuri has to teach and grade and pass at the end of the semester.

Dr Katsuki didn't seem like the kind of guy to — to what? Victor loses focus as the dim memory of Yuuri tugging Victor in for a kiss by the collar of his shirt pops up.

He shakes his head.

He wasn't the type to fail him for something like this.

With the last deep breath he will manage for an hour, he enters the class. He doesn't look, but Yuuri's presence is like a huge weight in the room. That gravity again. Victor's feet threaten to stumble and send him tumbling his way.

Though Yuuri is seated at his desk, Victor swears he notices him freeze as he takes his seat. After that, when Victor sneaks a look, Yuuri is collected and calm, but staring pointedly away from him. Then again, he never stared pointedly at him during class, either.

He teaches plaintively, and for the most part, normal. He doesn't call on Victor nor does he look at him. It's for the best considering Victor isn't hearing a word of the lecture.

He tries pretending to take notes, but consistently writing even when there's nothing to jot down feels obvious. Around him, students are slumped back in their seats and staring dead-eyed toward the front of the class. It WOULD be normal to watch the lecture. But if watching his professor had been challenging before, it was nothing compared to now.

Eventually, Yuuri seems focused on his lecture enough that there's no evident tension in his body. He leans against the whiteboard, one hand tucked behind his back and the other waving before him as he explains specifically why, uh — Victor tunes in for a second.

"— which is why we see natural disasters so often in Shakespeare's works. Water as a medium —"

He tunes back out with force, panic shooting through him at how very much he's missed. One thing he didn't want to do besides almost fuck his professor is fail his class.

(And he still WANTS to fuck his professor. That hasn't technically changed.)

Yuuri is passionate about whatever he's saying. His eyes are mostly between the floor in the ceiling but he always does that. A tad bit of nervous energy that clings to him.

It's another reason it'd been hard to detect him the other night. Now his glasses are pushed up his nose and the slight mess of his dark hair is threatening to get in his eyes with another month of growth. He's polite, keeps his arms behind his back or wrapped around himself, making himself small. Nothing like the pulling, tugging, persistent dancer from Friday.

Victor sighs to himself and sinks into his seat.

It's best to just let their encounter fade. It's humiliating but what's university without a ton of regret? Of course he thought not being 18 would save him from most mistakes but alas, what's done is done.

Yuuri pushes off the wall and Victor's breath catches a little. The way he does that is reminiscent of Friday night. WHY did he have to be his professor?

He walks a step forward, still gracefully flowing through the air, and Victor swallows hard.

Distantly he can still hear his voice describing a homework assignment, but Victor just takes him in with wide eyes. Their chemistry had been so good. This isn't _fair_.

Yuuri scans the students as he says something about a test next Monday, and Victor forgets. He forgets he is one of those students, not an entity outside this scene that gets to just swallow the sight of a very sexy professor, and Yuuri's eyes pass over him and freeze. They stare at each other. Yuuri stumbles over a word.

Victor's heart hammers.

Then Yuuri tears his eyes away and drops his gaze to the floor. His face is red in an instant, and he stammers the rest of the way through the end-of-class spiel.

Victor wonders for a terrifying second whether or not he will call him to stay to apologize or swear on everything being unintentional. _Maybe_ he should be the one to stay if he doesn't. Wouldn't transparency make this better? They could have a good laugh, bemoan how awkward a coincidence this all was, and move on. But Yuuri doesn't request he stay, and Victor finds himself quickly out the door.

 

 

•••

 

 

Wednesday's class begins similarly uneventful, with Victor desperately attempting to catch up but failing to focus. This time it's mostly due to Yuuri not avoiding watching him.

Victor considers he's maybe past what happened and has forgotten the embarrassment. That he's just staring at him like another one of his students. He certainly carries on the lecture as if this were the case, eyes penetrating without readable emotion.

But it's too much staring.

The student next to Victor even notices, and she gives him a questioning look to which he shrugs.

At some point Yuuri passes out a paper to each student. Victor's ability to breathe is pretty much non-existent when Yuuri makes his way up the row of desks Victor is in. He doesn't know what to do or where to look, so he looks up.

Hopefully the heat burning his cheeks isn't obvious. Under these blaring fluorescents, with Yuuri hovering over him, looking down at him. Okay, it's definitely obvious. But Yuuri gives him a small, pursed-lip smile, the same one he gives the others, and sets the paper on Victor's desk.

He starts to step away and Victor starts to breathe, and then Yuuri jumps a step back like he just remembered something.

"Oh, Victor, can you stop by my desk right after class?"

Victor blinks. He's terrified. Yuuri's smiling, waiting for an answer, but there's a tightness to his shoulders and the way he's beginning to clutch the papers in his hands that tells Victor's he's nervous, too.

"Of course." Victor tries on his best nonchalant smile, one that totally doesn't read why-would-you-ask-this-looking-down-at-me-with-your-dick-where-my-hands-can-reach.

"Great!"

The rest of class drags by. Each passing minute brings a heart beat a little harder than the previous, until Victor is being choked by the erratic thumping in his chest.

He stands when the hour is over, and then just stays standing as the class files out. The tension grows palpable in the air, thick and swampy until Victor is sure he might drown in it.

There's one student that lingers, of course, so that Victor is just standing quietly behind she and Yuuri discussing some fret she has over the test Monday.

"You can use the book," he says. "The questions will require interpretation and will need you to cite the play."

"How do I cite that?"

Yuuri's eyes flit to Victor. Clearly holding back exasperation, he says, "I have an appointment to make, but we can discuss that Friday, okay?"

That's enough to send her off without another question. Right before she's out of the room, Yuuri calls over, “Oh, and if you could please shut the door.”

It’s an affirmation of what they’re going to discuss. Victor hadn’t had a doubt, but it’s like slashing the situation with a thick underline. His legs feel weak.

The door clicks shut and they’re alone.

Victor looks at Yuuri, who is still looking at the door, and then words fall out of him. A joke. Like some desperate attempt to make all of this an ounce less painful.

“Don’t worry, I at least know how to cite a play.”

Yuuri’s head snaps to him with wide eyes as if the words struck him. Victor stills, thinking he’s screwed up yet again. But a smile cracks, widens, and then Yuuri chuckles. He puts a hand on the desk and hoists himself up so that he’s sitting on it, then he sighs with a heavy weariness.

“You’d think they figured out Google if they made it this far.”

Victor isn’t ready to loosen up and throw himself across a desk and slouch. He can’t move. This isn’t easier for him. The way Yuuri moves is — fuck. The way his dress shirt is loose and crinkled around his smaller shoulders but hugs him at the waist makes Victor wonder again if he’s athletic, a dancer or something. Is there a lot of muscle wrapped around that small frame of his?

Victor could’ve known these things. He’d been _close_ to knowing these things.

Yuuri meets his eyes; whatever he sees looking back makes him redden and look away into the classroom. The emptiness settles around them like a living thing that’s swallowed them both. Voices beyond the closed door seem alien and many miles away.

With a sigh, Yuuri begins what Victor is waiting for. “Listen, I just wanted to clear the air here. I’m sorry about the other night. That isn’t going to affect how I grade or treat you in this class. But if you… if you aren’t comfortable in here anymore, I really understand, and I can pull some strings to make sure you aren’t penalized for dropping.”

This is very routine to say, but the words touch Victor wrong. What does he want to hear?

A voice inside him answers that, but Victor shoos it away. What does the mature, adult, _well-hydrated_ side of Victor want to hear?

“Uh, thanks,” he manages, finding everywhere to look except Yuuri. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’m more responsible. I should’ve — I mean you were already so —” What the fuck is he trying to say? _You were already so hammered and I, as the more sober one, should have seen you were my Environmental Shakespeare professor..._

Yuuri’s eyes are on him, waiting; Victor tries meeting them but it’s like looking into the sun and he’s forced away. Besides, his expression is unreadable.

When he can’t find words, Yuuri picks back up. His voice is a little shakier now. Victor wonders how many times he’d rehearsed his initial statement. They were treading unmarked territory.

“No, please, I need to be aware that I could run into my students when out. I was there specifically because it’s not a student-frequented place, but…” He eyes Victor.

“That’s why I was there.”

Yuuri pushes his glasses up with a small grin. They’re silent for a few seconds, until Victor realizes they’re both probably reminiscing about the exact same thing, and he tries to break their very dangerous thoughts.

“We’ll just—”

“So don’t—”

They stop. Victor gives an awkward laugh. More silence. Yuuri seems intent on letting Victor say what he wants, so Victor tries again. “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, I guess. That’s all we can do.”

A pause draws between them. Why isn’t he answering that yet? _Why?_ Victor wants to run out of here.

Or make a move, he isn’t sure.

(He absolutely can’t do that but these signals aren’t consistent!)

“Yeah,” Yuuri finally says, and the word is drawn out slow, punctuated by a drifting, distant stare.

“Is something wrong?”

Yuuri crosses his arms, and Victor wishes he wouldn’t sit or lean on things in his presence. Or stand or do anything, because he’s a very weak man who can imagine crawling on top of him no matter what position he's in.

“I just feel guilty.” Before Victor can consider meaning behind that, Yuuri’s sliding off the desk and moving to gather his papers and bag. “If you ever need anything, let me know, okay?”

“Sure thing.” Victor feels himself start to walk away. It doesn’t feel like they got closure on this, and inside of him there’s a screaming to make everything right, but what is right?

“Oh, and Victor?”

“Yeah Yuu-” He blinks, reddens. “Dr Katsuki,” he fixes.

Yuuri pretends not to notice that. “Thanks for apparently not reporting me immediately to student resources. I realize you had full right to.”

This makes Victor laugh. And he laughs a lot, the sound filling the room in such a distorted and lonely manner that he wishes he could stop. He sees the confused look on Yuuri’s face, but he just _has_ to laugh. Because the idea of reporting his professor for nearly slaying him in the BEST way, the way he wanted so badly, is hilarious.

“What?” Yuuri asks, an edge of worry in his voice. His eyes are wide and unassuming.

Victor wipes away a tear forming in his eye. This isn't really funny at all, but that’s what is so miserably hilarious. “It’s nothing, just — you forget, you’re the one who walked away.”

 

 

•••

 

 

One day, maybe when Victor has a nice boyfriend and can wake up every morning laughing at all his old mistakes, the little things like walking to Yuuri’s class won’t matter. But for now, it's like marching on death row.

They “cleared the air” between them, so he should feel better. Even though it was basically a whole lotta ambiguous sorry-we’re-contractually-not-allowed-to-fuck back and forth. Chris helped him see that when Victor repeated their conversation on Thursday night.

“Victor. _Victor._ ” Chris repeats his name, each iteration becoming more exasperated, when he thinks Victor is being dim or preposterous. At the time, it’d been over the fact that no, Victor had not taken the opportunity he had Yuuri alone with the door shut to drop to his knees and whisper, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Efforts to remind Chris life didn’t work like that usually earn him a stern glare and a stubborn, “Why not?”

Victor allows himself one glance as he takes his seat. Yuuri isn't watching students enter the classroom. His elbows are on his desk and he's typing into a cell phone, brows furrowed. Whatever he's doing is occupying him, so Victor allows himself a few more glances.

Today he's got another one of those nice shirts on, but it's blue. He buttons them almost the entire way up to his neck, a rather dorky quirk Victor noticed early on. His sleeves are rolled halfway up his arms.

Rather than stare at his forearms like he wants to, Victor looks away.

Focusing will be today's mission.

Right. The name of the game and all that.

He brings out his notebook and opens it to a new page. Then he sets a pencil neatly in the center.

He is completely ready.

They start the class with a review from last time, and then Yuuri is writing on the whiteboard.

His back is to them.

Victor writes down the first thing Yuuri says, and then... stops. Yuuri stays writing out some huge paragraph on the board that he probably could have just read aloud. Victor doesn't hear the words he says to go with the text though.

He glances around. Students are using this needless stretch of time to use their phones, so Victor turns back, frown deepening.

Yuuri's adorning his typical kinda-uptight-but-still-hot professor style, shirt tucked into slacks even though it's Friday, but Victor recognizes the fit of those pants. He didn't recognize the shirt because it was buttoned high now, but he's pretty sure this was the outfit Yuuri wore out last Friday night.

Yuuri shifts and the fabric of the shirt reflects the fluorescence with a silken shimmer. Oh, this was definitely the outfit.

The marker hits the board's shelf with a loud clink and Yuuri turns around, eyes meeting Victor's immediately. Victor freezes, caught, but Yuuri holds him there with some deep and secretive intention lining the intensity of his expression.

Then he quirks a smirk before turning back to the class.

No one seems to have noticed that brief interlude, and indeed it may have lasted barely two seconds, but Victor feels like he grew old and died and was born again into this moment. His heart hammers.

Was he _flirting_ with him? During class?

Victor sits back. Maybe he is seeing what isn't there because of his own wants.

How can he tell? He hadn't argued with Chris's affirmation that Yuuri must still want him, but he didn't necessarily agree either.

He took Yuuri's apology and promise seriously, even if it didn't feel like the closure they needed.

Also, this wasn't like Yuuri. He doesn't know him well, but he's blushing and awkward and beyond the requirements of a professor, non-confrontational. It'd be vain to assume this is a show meant for himself.

Victor tries to scribble circles in his notebook while he thinks. Maybe he's imagining things, but he thinks he can feel his eyes on him. The feeling stays until Victor tears a line through the page.

It's nothing, surely.

A memory spikes: a man in the dark, shimmery and swaying, tugging Victor into him. Even intoxicated, he had all the right touches and words to seduce Victor. His confidence spread around him and stayed thick in the air like a drug. He had Victor at his mercy with a mere look.

That is this man. He owes it to his professor, at the very least, to acknowledge he has some world-class seduction.

What changed, then? He tries to think. Victor hadn't gone to any bars since last Friday so having a second secret identity disaster wasn't possible. Their last talk ended with them agreeing none of this mattered — except the one part. He'd nearly slammed himself into a wall after dropping that one line.

_You're the one who walked away._

In his retelling, even Chris had gaped and accused him of discounting the entire professional conversation Yuuri just tried to have with him.

Victor decides if Yuuri just wants to torment him, then congrats, he's been doing that subconsciously for weeks now.

If he wants more, then he'll have to let him know. It wouldn't be hard.

The minutes tick by, slower than any of the previous classes. Victor stops listening to the lecture, but doesn't hold back openly staring at Yuuri.

He will unbutton that shirt, yep. Or maybe finally get to take hold of what Yuuri so eagerly grinded into him. Does his neck bruise easily?

This isn't doing him any favors; the fantasies aren't new, and if Yuuri doesn't make a move, he's going to need to make a trip to the bathroom after this class.

It's like Yuuri knows he has Victor's attention now. He doesn't look back at him the entire class period.

The wait is so long, such an uphill climb, that when Yuuri dismisses everyone, Victor is so relieved he nearly forgets the real challenge is about to start.

He waits for most of the students to leave the class, acting like it's taking him a long time to gather his stuff. He's only just leaving the row of desks when Yuuri speaks. His heart kicks painfully into high gear, but he keeps himself composed.

"Victor, mind walking me to my car today?"

His voice doesn't have a trace of the seductive glimmer around his exterior. His tone is just as professional and light as ever.

He's good at this. Victor maybe signed on for more than he bargained for.

"All right, Professor." Victor says _professor_ with a touch of sarcasm and hopes it isn't too much. Yuuri pauses and a little heat rushes to his face, but he clears his throat and turns away to stuff a laptop in his backpack. "Please." He throws the backpack behind him. "Call me Yuuri."

Victor is, in that moment, hyper aware of both of them. Every smiling glance Yuuri sends his way, every shift of his hips, Victor is wrapped up by it. And he feels the coursing of his own blood, the pounding in his ears. His hands clenched into fists at his side.

Yuuri gestures to the open door and says, "After you." One of his eyebrows rise with a smirk, the first suggestive break in this act.

Finally, Victor feels the force of that sweet, sweet gravity take hold of him.

He reaches out, grabs the door, and slams it shut. He keeps his arm extended between them, creating a boundary around Yuuri. Though really it's just more of _him_ getting tangled in the things Yuuri weaves.

They stare at each other a moment that hangs between them, so tangible it can be ripped from the air and crushed.

Yuuri's blushing. It's so cute. Victor is slowly piecing this man together; he seems to rehearse situations in his head, and they probably tend to play out as he plans. But not everyone is so easily controlled. Victor wants to be someone who can keep surprising a person like that.

Yuuri's bag slips down his shoulders. He holds it as he silently walks around Victor, eyes not breaking their held stare until they absolutely have to. He walks to his desk and throws it down.

His back stays to him, but Victor can see see his arms moving. Unbuttoning his shirt.

Oh, no. That's his job today.

Victor follows like there's nowhere else in the world to go, and there isn't.

Yuuri turns suddenly. He's not completely facing Victor, but is partially positioned toward the wall. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone and Victor recognizes this. He steps in front of Yuuri, stare heavy, pressing his gaze into him. He leans back into the wall with a dull thud.

And Yuuri's back.

There's no bitter taste of alcohol, no dizzying dark with light bleeding at the corners of his vision. Instead, it's crisp, and it's not a lie or a mixup or an attempt to bury himself.

Yuuri's mouth is open on his own, the front of his pants grinding into his thigh, a perfect fit, all like they'd never stopped. Victor slides hands across the thin silk of the shirt and drags them down to his ass. Yuuri gasps against his mouth this time when Victor yanks him forward, and it's the first break in their silence.

Their eyes both pop open and they watch each other, chests rising and falling in unison. He's beautiful. His glasses are still on. Hair still a ruffle. Victor likes it.

There's a need burning inside him and he needs to figure out where to take it. The options are endless, the time fleeting.

They shouldn't stay here too long. It's 4pm on a Friday. No one else has this room, but Victor doesn't know what THIS means. If this is the one time he gets to do this, for the sheer sake of closure they keep grasping at, then he doesn't want to rush it. He wants it to last until they're both trembling with every last ounce of muscle energy they have left.

Yuuri's eyes are pleading, lower lip bitten wet and trembling. Did he look like this the other night? The darkness robbed Victor of so much.

"You're okay?" Yuuri checks with a whisper. If he only knew.

Oh, right. Victor can TELL him now.

"I'm SO okay, Yuuri, I don't care about everything else. It's JUST Shakespeare."

Yuuri gapes, then laughs, and it rings out into the classroom like music, pure and true, because it IS true.

Victor's body, which he thought was already plenty alive, cranks up its own heat. Yuuri's laugh is like an acquiescence of the truth and he feels like the man he is, not a student withering to pieces in front of his terribly sexy professor.

Victor directs Yuuri back with a gentle push, cutting Yuuri’s laugh off abruptly, but he follows, pliant, as he's pushed against the desk. The chair knocks away on its wheels. Victor's knees hit the floor.

Hard school linoleum. It sends a shake up his back that hurts, and he wants it to hurt, he wants every feeling right now to pound itself into his memory.

Yuuri gazes down at him, mouth parted in some sort of shock. Did he surprise him just now, too?

Victor hopes.

Yuuri grips the desk behind him with one hand. With the other, he traces a line up Victor's chin, smiling blearily down at him as he forces his head up to stare directly into his eyes. His smile strikes Victor with something like affection.

And Victor? He can’t take it. He presses his face into the front of Yuuri’s pants and mouths the hard outline of him there. The pant’s fabric feels thin, and Yuuri feels just a breath of threads away, and he realizes he isn’t wearing anything under his pants.

Yuuri watches the realization hit Victor, an evil grin climbing his face that reminds Victor of so many things he wants to do to him. Then Yuuri’s head falls back to expose the delicate trace of his neck, and he grabs the back of Victor’s head by his hair and nudges him forward.

“Do it,” he says to the ceiling.

Oh, wow. Victor’s hands rush to unsnap and unzip him, somehow forgetting Yuuri has nothing on under there, so he’s met with a second bout of surprise when it’s Yuuri’s cock suddenly before him and not more clothes to pull away.

He’s — he’s — Victor swallows hard. Damn. Yuuri watches him tentatively from above and his knees send a reminding ache up his thighs. Mesmerized, delighted, Victor takes him in his hand and runs an exploratory stroke from shaft to tip, watching the way Yuuri licks his lips and lets his head fall back again.

He plunges on him. His cock fills his mouth and Victor is met with an immediate head rush. Dizzying, disorienting, he feels his own twitch in his pants. He is so hard it’s a throb in his entire lower body, but he wants to channel all that onto Yuuri right now. So he sucks in through his nose, blood ringing in his ears, and takes him down his throat.

An amalgamation of sound erupts above him but he focuses on doing that again, and again, measuring the amount of times he can get his professor to cry out by the increase of heat in his own body. He tugs his pants down more so that he can take hold of his thighs. Yuuri’s moan is restrained, barely more than a gasp.

There's so much heat radiating off them that the air should be shimmering.

A finger curls through his hair and he steals a glance upward; Yuuri’s half-lidded and watching him. Victor wants to push him to a brink that Yuuri can’t even watch him, but has to crumble in on himself, fall apart, but there’s a determination in the way Yuuri forces a grin through his panting that makes Victor consider just how stubborn he might be.

Someone knocks on the door.

Victor pulls off his cock so fast he gags, and he does his best to muffle a choking cough into his arm. Yuuri scrambles for the top buttons of his shirt — his shirt before his dick?

A voice beyond the door calls out, “Dr Katsuki, are you still in here?”

“Damn,” Yuuri whispers. He looks around frantically, then eyes the desk.

He gives Victor an apologetic look before saying, “Under there?”

Victor looks at the dark rectangle under the desk. It's the kind of desk that has walls on all sides except the front, so he would be concealed. The red light of a power cord glows up from the floor, and a tangle of cords stretch up from it.

The person knocks again.

Victor throws himself underneath and Yuuri yells out, “Come in!” and falls into his chair. He scoots in, loose dick still hard and hanging out in Victor’s face.

Oh.

The door opens.

“Dr Katsuki, glad you’re still here.”

Victor doesn’t recognize the voice of a student. Maybe it’s another professor.

Doesn’t matter. He’s mostly staring at the cock just existing in front of him. It shines in the little light under here, evidence it’d just been down Victor’s throat. He still wants it down his throat, and doesn’t think this rude interruption is worth waiting for.

Yuuri's polite voice sings out from above. “I'm here. What's up?”

“I was wondering what date you scheduled midterms for?”

Victor caresses a warning hand up Yuuri’s thigh. The muscle there tightens as he braces himself, but he doesn't signal for him to stop.

He maybe wanted this to happen. Victor has the passing thought that there would be nothing wrong with a professor at a desk and a student standing on the other end, apparently talking, but for some reason Yuuri defaulted to sending him down here. Hm.

Yuuri’s legs kick out and grab the inner edges of the desk to drag himself further inside, practically shoving his cock into Victor’s face. Happily, Victor takes it, putting him back in his mouth like he’d never left.

“First week of March,” Yuuri says.

The angle is a little hard but Victor starts stroking where he can’t reach with his mouth.

“Okay. I was just doubting myself then.”

“It —” Victor tastes precum and he draws back to suck firmly around the head. Yuuri’s breath hitches but he recovers with a cough. “It always feels like you’re just getting into the swing of things then.”

Victor pushes his legs apart. The chair rolls back an inch but Yuuri’s legs drag himself back in, effectively pushing his cock back into Victor’s mouth. “But that’s 8 weeks in,” he manages to add. Is that a little bit of strain Victor hears?

There’s an old heater prattling senselessly somewhere in the room, something Victor would’ve never noticed until this moment in which he’s eternally grateful for its sound.

He isn’t sure what’s hotter: the fact that he’s sucking his professor under the very desk he teaches from, or that there’s someone (another professor?) in the room. But it’s the combination of both that fills his head with a heady, drunken rush. This is so bad, and it's so good.

"How are your classes?" Whoever this is has moved onto small talk. Yuuri's composure is a little less airtight now. There's a tremble at the edge of this voice, one he consistently attempts to mask with feigned exhaustion.

Unable to resist, Victor starts crawling a hand up his shirt. Yuuri clutches at it, warning, and Victor hums a laugh around him.

"Fine, really. Great. This might be the best year yet."

Yuuri's hips jerk. There's so much more that Victor wants to do besides this, but maybe this doesn't have to be the last time they interact this way. If he can leave Yuuri wanting more, a non-interrupted time together, that'd be good.

"Are you okay?" the person asks.

"Just tired." Yuuri's voice is pitchy and impatience is bleeding into his tone. "Monday we should get lunch."

"Oh, yes!"

Victor wants to see him come, watch his whole body tremble and his face throw its beautiful self into one of twisted blissful release, but this is a priceless opportunity.

"Have a good weekend, then!" Yuuri says, pushing them out the door with his tone.

"Yeah. Are — are you okay, really?"

"Yep! Bye. Oh, and shut the door on your way out."

Victor doesn't think he hears the door click, so he doesn't stop, doesn't let go of the pace he's worked to. Yuuri pushes into him a little, quiet above the desk, and then his fingers appear when he grips the bottom edge.

The door clicks shut.

"Fucking dammit," Yuuri growls, and then he comes with a frustrated exhalation.

It's a shock for Victor, and he almost misses the cue to swallow everything in his mouth down. Hell, he tastes good. Victor wants to die, his heart beating gleefully and filling the rest of the space under the desk. He'd do this over and over.

"Victor." Yuuri's voice is weary, but there's a hard edge in his tone. Something that sounds almost threatening.

Victor emerges from underneath, knees thoroughly sore and jaw effectively strained but grinning without apology, and he begins to stand.

Yuuri rises with him. His dick is still out, softening but not soft, and the air around them shifts. Victor feels it before Yuuri moves.

"You're not getting away with that." A hand takes Victor's and puts it back on Yuuri’s cock. "Keep touching me."

The way Victor's blood shoots through him makes him dizzy. "Really?" Wow. He's hesitating around where Yuuri placed his hand. Yuuri thrusts into it and growls a low demand. "Yes, really. I didn't think you'd make me _finish_ that fast.”

Dazed and feeling a little delirious by just how much he REALLY wants to get slammed now that he knows it's still a possibility, Victor obliges. Yuuri drives him back into the desk, kissing him with a new force.

Victor is the one surprised now. That Yuuri can last like this, can just keep going. It’s something to be envious of. Though Victor doesn’t have to be the envying one if he can be on the receiving end.

A new energy wraps around them. It’s more similar to what Victor felt from him last Friday night, but with clarity. It makes the feeling of Yuuri shoving him onto the desk sharper. The edge cuts into him, something falls off and rolls across the floor. Yes, this is what he wants.

“You do NOT get off with just that,” he reiterates, then leans over Victor’s body to kiss him with terrifying depth. It’s nearly probing, like he’s seeking the traces of himself out of his mouth, reaping Victor’s body for what was taken too soon from him.

“Yuuri,” Victor mutters against his mouth, breathless, his strokes on Yuuri’s cock loose and haphazard. He wants it, now. Badly.

Yuuri grabs both his hands and pushes them to Victor’s sides. He’s another person now, wild and completely driven by feeling; Victor watches his eyes flicker over his body, dark and lusting.

“Tell me,” Yuuri whispers between them, “that you want me.” His grip trembles around Victor’s wrists.

It’s all Victor can do to not roll his eyes. Yuuri’s face is red with exertion, with that previous orgasm, with the sweat of days of want. “What are you really waiting for?”

Yuuri shakes his head and doesn't speak. Slowly, observing Victor’s face the entire time, he undoes the front of Victor’s pants. Breathless, he waits, not quite sure what's about to happen.

With a reservation and skill Victor can't fathom, Yuuri pulls Victor out by the shift of pants and boxers without directly touching him. Victor whines low, unintentionally, earning a raised eyebrow from Yuuri; he bites back further noise, his arms shaking behind him as they hold him up.

Very deliberately drinking in his reaction, Yuuri’s licks his hand. Then he holds it out like an offering just above Victor’s cock. “Tell me for real.”

Victor blinks, completely gone. “Uh, what?”

“Tell me you want me.”

Oh, god. Oh wow. Victor can't even try to toy with the situation. The word _please_ falls out of his mouth like a prayer, and Yuuri tilts his head like he didn't quite hear him. “Please, finally, just touch me, _fuck me._ ”

Being touched by Yuuri sends his head reeling and he shamelessly thrusts into his hand. He's wanted for so long now, and every pent up feeling is suddenly and very quickly unraveling. Yuuri's other hand holds him by the waist under his shirt. Its warm, firm, and reminds him that he wants more. Yuuri watches him with a penetrating stare, his own cock still visible and hard and leaking renewed precum.

Victor gets it now that Yuuri is good at a lot of this, including improvising, because there’s certainly no way he’s fucked someone on a desk before. But he could fool a less intelligent man with the way he throws Victor’s pants and boxers aside so he can coax one of his legs to hike up over his shoulder. Satisfied with how he has him spread, he slips his own saliva-slicked finger inside Victor.

It shoots incredible heat up his spine, and he doesn’t know what to do but lie there and take it and idly regret he never tore that shirt off him, or all their clothes for that matter, but he supposes there’s a price to pay for wanting to get fucked in the classroom.

Victor’s back arches with the coax of Yuuri inside him and chokes on a gasp. It’s good, and the stretch and tug of Yuuri’s fingers in his ass brings searing heat to his face. From this angle he’s got nothing to grip but the desk and himself, so his body mostly writhes under the intense pressure from the curl of fingers. He moans when Yuuri hits in him deeper with a force that he puts his body into.

“I seriously,” Yuuri tries through heavy breaths, “regret I didn’t take you home anyway that night.” He slicks his cock with something wet. Victor watches, speechless, a hollowness inside him screaming to be filled. He hasn’t wanted this bad in a long time. Even in his wildest fantasies, he exerted some level of sane self-control.

“I regret that, too,” he admits. “Though you know that.”

“Yeah. I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Yes,” he says, voice broken and needy. “Just, yes.”

Yuuri levels his cock with his ass and pushes inside him and Victor’s world goes stilted and slow. Yuuri’s body stutters over him, and he's amazing, feeling through Victor what he needs and repositioning his leg over his shoulder so he can fill him deep.

He is stretched thin and in a delirious state of desire; the desk is cold under him and his arms had long since given way, but Yuuri could have thrown him into the dirt and plowed him and he’d be happy.

Yuuri hisses, curses, and because this is a second go-around for him, he doesn’t waste a second. He licks down his hand, languid and wet with a string of saliva bridging his hand and mouth. Wrapping it around Victor almost seems like a mistake; his body is on fire, in overdrive; pleasure spikes up him and hammers his heart and flutters his eyes.

“Feel good?” Yuuri doesn't let him answer before pushing into him again, and every time Victor opens his mouth to say anything at all, he thrusts shallowly, deep. He's grinning through his own hazy stupor. He's a complete tease and Victor doesn't even care to fight back. It's too good; Yuuri can torment him however he wants, as long as he is inside him.

He HAS to workout or something. It's easy to forget Yuuri is smaller than him when he's got Victor’s body held up and wrapped around him in the best way to drive into him.

He keeps tugging on Victor, and fucks him mad. Blinding heat courses around his lower abdomen. His mind is filled with a steaming fog and his body is just something for Yuuri to channel himself through.

“Ah,” Victor chokes out, something unrepentant rising in him like a wave. Yuuri doesn't stop. The pull of him out and the thrust in is dizzying. Each time his heart seems to reset. It's so good.

There’s no point in holding back. Victor comes and the shimmer of stars shoots behind his eyelids. A strangulated sound emanates from him but he doesn’t care; he is much more focused on keeping his eyes pried open so that he can watch Yuuri come this time.

Yuuri watches him, too, and the enveloping of Victor’s orgasm seems to give him what he needs to fuck even harder. Victor groans in the bliss of overstimulation and the sight of the man above him. A fine sheen of sweat covers his face, the shirt he wears is darkened across his body where sweat has bled through. A beautiful mess. Yuuri slams into him with finality and a glorious gasp as his hips freeze and tremble.

His expression weakens, becoming vulnerable while his mouth hangs open in a silent yell and his eyes squeeze shut. More beautiful than Victor ever imagined.

Eventually, Yuuri lets out a breath. With shaky muscles, he lets down Victor’s leg and collapses gently over his stomach, mess be damned.

They hold each other a few minutes.

Victor likes this moment, too. Exhausted bodies cooling against each other. Yuuri still inside him, his own come across his stomach and Yuuri’s hand that still weakly cradles him.

After a little while, when their breaths even out and Victor gains enough lucidity back to wonder what the hell comes next, Yuuri whispers, quite un-sexily, “The janitors come at six.”

Victor chuckles. “I need to care about when the janitors come, too? This is quite a demanding school.”

Yuuri’s head falls into his chest, but his body vibrates with a laugh. “Oh, my god,” he says. His head raises and sure enough, there’s a beautiful, glowing grin. He shakes his head. “Come on, let’s clean up.”

They do, and it’s as awkward and messy as Victor would imagine cleaning up the professor’s desk you just fucked on would be. His legs beg him to lay down and sleep, sure. But he can see that exhaustion at the edge of Yuuri’s movements too. They’re in this struggle together.

The silence between them isn’t bad. It’s warm, leaving them both with knowing smiles. So he knows his professor is a sex god, basically. He wants to know a LOT more about that, but maybe another time. Right now he's more curious about the way he seems to revert back to being shy and blushing.

He even splutters over an apology when nearly bumping into Victor while he stumbles back into his pants.

When Yuuri once again throws his backpack around him, cheeks still only slightly pink, he asks, “So, like I said, do you want to walk me to my car? I was thinking we could talk over dinner.”

Victor blinks. “Were you not going to, uh —” A heat rushes to his face, and Yuuri laughs and waves a hand.

“Oh no, I was still going to fuck you in the car first before, don’t worry.”

Victor’s heart flips. “Of course,” he says. “Dinner. And maybe that car thing can happen later?”

“Oh yeah,” Yuuri agrees with genuine ease like this is totally normal now. They begin leaving the class, Victor trailing just a step behind Yuuri.

“And this is okay?” he asks. "I mean, I won't tell if you won't and all."

Yuuri looks over his shoulder and smiles. He gives his glasses a nudge up his nose.

“It’s just Shakespeare, Victor."

**Author's Note:**

> There wasn’t room for it to be explicitly mentioned, but the person Yuuri is texting toward the latter half is 100% Phichit who, like Chris, is completely cheering him on. I’d like to think Phichit and Chris meet during/shortly after this and tell stories of their dramatic friends, only to realize… :x
> 
> THANKS FOR READING 
> 
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